


And I'll follow my heart back to you

by TsukinoKei



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunions, implied Lois Lane/Diana Prince, slight character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukinoKei/pseuds/TsukinoKei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I… I fell into a lake on the way here,” he offers weakly.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Bruce wonders if it is just another dream, a phantom sequence his brain cooks up whenever the nights get too harrowing after a patrol, the ache of his old wounds gnawing deep into his bones.</i>
</p><p>In which Bruce Wayne does not expect to see a soaking wet Clark Kent at his doorstep at three in the morning, six months after his "death".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And I'll follow my heart back to you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the overwhelming support in my previous fic~
> 
> So here I am, back again with more PWPs. I know everyone's heart broke (mine included), so nearly four months after the movie, I am here with some reunion sex goodness.
> 
> Takes place six months after Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice.
> 
> Title is taken from Our Last Night's Home, please go give this song a listen, it's an amazing tune. I happened to have a [Superbat Fanmix](http://8tracks.com/tsukinokei/i-will-follow-my-heart-back-to-you) under the same title too. /shameless self promo/
> 
> Again, English is not my native language (it's my L1 actually), so this fic is self-betaed, any mistakes made are my own.
> 
> As usual, dedicated to the light of my life and my dearest friend, Albi (@albilibertea). Shout out to @shanghaipsycho for urging me to write this lmao.

 Bruce does not expect to see a soaking wet Clark Kent standing at the front of his doorstep at three in the morning.

Water is dripping onto the concrete beneath the young man’s bare feet, who’s wearing a pair of well worn jeans that has definitely seen better days and an old ragged blue henley t-shirt. Clark is shivering, his hair plastered to his face, arms wrapped tight around himself, bright blue eyes stark against skin that looked almost starved of sunlight.

“I… I fell into a lake on the way here,” he offers weakly.

Bruce wonders if it is just another dream, a phantom sequence his brain cooks up whenever the nights get too harrowing after a patrol, the ache of his old wounds gnawing deep into his bones. Maybe he is getting too old for this, his hands trembling as his grip on the doorframe tightens a little. He blinks, and Clark is still standing in front of him, shivering and dripping wet.

“Bruce,” the phantom of Clark Kent murmurs. “It's me, Clark Kent.”

“This is just another dream, isn't it?” Bruce asks, swallowing to wet his parched throat. “You… you can't be alive.”

But Bruce knows better, he knows Clark has been alive for more than three weeks, ever since the young Kryptonian had clawed his way out of his grave. Martha Kent had called, sobbing and nearly hysterical after Clark had passed out on the couch in the living room.

Alfred had been the one to calm her down, the low comforting rumble of his voice as Bruce sat in front of his computer in the cave, trying to take in the fact that the Man of Steel was now well and alive, six months after his death.

_“I just… I just didn’t know who to call, Mister Pennyworth. I mean, what do you do when you see your previously dead son on your doorstep?”_

Bruce didn’t either.

He never flew to Smallville to see for himself, because he knew he would never be ready to face whatever that was waiting for him in the Kent farm. So Bruce stayed in his lake house, carrying the secret of Kal-El’s return in his heart.

Funnily enough, here he is, speaking to a dead man whom the entire world thought was previously dead.

“I’m not dead, Bruce,” Clark pleads. He takes a step forward, and Bruce nearly takes a step back. The young man reaches out with one hand and hesitantly takes Bruce’s hand in his own, his fingers curling around his palm.

A tight blossom of pain on the palm of his hand as Clark pinches him, and Bruce could only thank years of training and experience that he doesn’t faint.

His own fingers curls around Clark's palm, and his heart aches at the soft yet radiant smile that Clark gifts him.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"


	2. Our love will keep us close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I don’t see a point in using my flight powers when I’m trying to keep a low profile after being dead for six months. The dead don’t just miraculously come to life like they do in movies. Unless I happen to be a zombie.”_
> 
> _“But somehow you did, Superman.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for the wait, everyone! Ho Chi Minh City was a blast, though I really didn't want to leave and return to Singapore. School started as well, so basically I'm trying to juggle all my lessons alongside some overdue freelance work lmao. 
> 
> Thanks to all who gave kudos and commented, I really appreciate every single one of them. Again, dedicating this chapter to the light of my life (@Albilibertea), who's constantly fuelling me with inspiration with that over-imaginative brain of hers. /snorts/
> 
> Again, this is self betaed, any mistakes made are solely mine.

It’s unnerving to see Clark Kent in his house, Bruce thinks.

The billionaire watches his house guest silently, who has the cordless phone pressed close to his ear as he speaks to Martha in hushed tones, pacing up and down in front of the floor to ceiling windows. He had lent Clark a pair of dark blue pyjamas, shooing the young man into the en suite bathroom in his room before making a call to Alfred.

_“Clark’s here, Alfred.”_  

_“Have you tried inviting him in, sir? Because I sincerely do hope you didn’t slam the door shut on his face”_

_“...He’s in the shower.”_

And now Alfred is in the kitchen, making a light meal for their guest.

Bruce turns his attention back to Clark, who is still on the phone with his mother, one arm wrapped around himself. It still feels unreal, seeing Clark alive and well… _well_. His eyes lingered on the soft sad smile on Clark’s face, nodding and reassuring his mother that _yes, he should have given her a call before flying to Bruce’s house without a single note or call before leaving._

Clark’s dark hair catches the moonlight spilling into the lake house through the floor to ceiling windows, Bruce’s breath hitches when the younger man turns to him and smiles again, those bright blue eyes glittering like sapphires.

Clark turns away, and Bruce takes the chance to drink in the alluring picture he makes; the curve of those strong shoulders, almost dwarfed by his own pyjamas shirt, broad chest tapering to a pair of narrow hips and long powerful legs that seemed almost endless. His eyes fall on Clark’s bare feet, bitter memories of him dragging him through the rubble by his ankle flooding back.

Bruce can only swallow the guilt rising up the back of throat, suddenly unable to look at Clark in the eye.

“I’ll see you in two days, ma, I promise,” Clark whispers. He hangs up and walks towards the sofa where Bruce was seated. The couch sinks a little from the additional weight, and Bruce tries not to fidget; it still feels surreal, to see Clark Kent alive in front of him and wearing his clothes simply because he had supposedly fallen into a lake.

“Sorry for the sudden intrusion, I just… I just needed to see you.”

Clark looks away, almost embarrassed.

Bruce does not know how to reply.

A moment of awkward silence passes between the two men, Bruce’s gaze still focused on Clark. Under the warm lights in the living room, Clark’s ears seem to redden, and Bruce suddenly wishes Alfred would hurry up with getting dinner ready.

Wanting to break the silence, Bruce blurts, “So you fell into a lake while on the way here? Guess someone hasn’t been practising their flying.”

Clark only tilts in his head, a wry smile on his face.

“I don’t see a point in using my flight powers when I’m trying to keep a low profile after being dead for six months. The dead don’t just miraculously come to life like they do in movies. Unless I happen to be a zombie.”  

“But somehow you did, Superman.”

Bruce has to keep himself from smirking, it suddenly feels like they were back at Lex’s party, trading jabs at one another, just without the hostility. And he sees Clark was starting to relax, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, shoulders slumping in relief.

“You said you needed to see me, Clark.”

“Oh that,” Clark mumbles, the blush returning to his cheeks. His eyes dart to the crackling fireplace, as though there is something fascinating about the fire. His hands fidgets a little before he releases a little puff of breath and goes, “Lois and Ma told me what you did when I was… gone.”

Clark continues, “Ma said the funeral was paid by an anonymous donor, didn’t take a genius to figure out it was you. And the monthly flowers and visits… Bruce, you didn’t have to.”

“It was… It was the least I could do, after all, she’s your mother,” Bruce mutters. “But Miss Lane didn’t take too kindly to some of my visits, insisted that the Batman has more important things to do in Gotham than babysit a grieving journalist.”

“Typical Lois,” Clark shakes his head, a fond smile on his face as he lies back against the couch, grabbing a cushion to hug it. “But again, thank you for everything Bruce, really.”

“You can stop it with the thanks, Clark. You’re beginning to sound like a beauty pageant contestant with all your ‘thank yous’.”

Clark’s eyes widened, taken aback by Bruce’s comment before dissolving into a fit of silent laughter, hunching over his cushion as his shoulders shook with laughter. The young man straightened, a grin on his face as he tried to regain his composure. And all Bruce could think right there and then was his smile, Superman's smile, the smile that Martha Kent had described as 'brighter than the sun'.

And Bruce realised this was the first time he had ever seen Clark smile, not as Superman, but as Clark Joseph Kent.  
  
He wonders if the world will ever get the chance to see him as Superman again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter for this time, because I'm supposed to be taking apart languages that I don't speak for an assignment. 
> 
> To be honest, I'm still thinking of the route I should be taking for this fic, because the first plotline I came up with isn't meshing well with the feel of this fic.
> 
> Echoing Bones's words, "DAMMIT JIM, I'M A LINGUISTICS STUDENT, NOT A WRITER." (Though granted, I do write as a part time job occasionally lol)


	3. It’s safe to leave your doubts behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN. So sorry for the wait everyone, I've been hella busy with real life recently, school and all. Butttt I'm finally done with the semester and am nearly halfway through my university journey. (Please pray I get at least a second upper class honours, the bell curve god may have forsaken me.) 
> 
> This chapter will have a very rambly Clark, I think he just needs to get all his thoughts out while Bruce listens. And maybe my attempt at introspection? IDK. 
> 
> You guys know the drill, this chapter is self betaed, any mistakes made are my own.
> 
> Dedicated to @albilibertea, because she bears the full brunt of me whining to her throughout the entire fic writing process.

“I was wondering if Master Clark would like something to eat,” Alfred’s voice comes from behind, and Bruce turns to see Alfred walking over with a bowl of steaming hot soup and a plate of sandwiches. Clark’s eyes widens as his stomach gave a loud growl, his hands flying to his abdomen as if he could muffle the noises.

“Wouldn’t be polite to leave our guest starving, Master Bruce,” Alfred gives Bruce a look as he sets the dishes down on the coffee table.

He turns to Clark, his eyes softening as he takes in the young man on the couch, his back ramrod straight as if he was having tea with the Queen instead of a late night supper with Bruce Wayne. 

“I apologize for Master Bruce’s behaviour, Master Clark,” Alfred says. “And for whatever that has happened in the past between you and Master Bruce.” Bruce shifts uncomfortably at the hidden sharpness in Alfred’s voice. “Please, do make yourself at home, I’m sorry if Master Bruce hasn’t been a good host.”

“No! Please, I should be the one saying sorry for troubling you and Bruce,” Clark babbles, shaking his head as he reaches for the sandwiches. “It’s really late and honestly no normal person would show up at the doorstep of someone’s house at three in the morning.”

Clark takes a bite. “This is really good, Mr Pennyworth!”

Alfred only inclines his head, before turning to Bruce. “If there’s nothing else, I shall take my leave, sir. And do try not to keep Master Clark up, he does needs his rest after all.”

“I’ll make sure he’s in bed by the time he’s done, Alfred.”

Alfred nods, striding towards the front door while Bruce turns his attention back to Clark, who seems to have finished the plate of sandwiches and is determined to literally inhale the entire bowl of soup in one go.

“Clark, don’t burn yourself,” Bruce deadpans.

“I’m Superman, remember?” Clark grins at him, bringing the bowl to his lips as he drank.

Another awkward silence settled over them, and Bruce clears his throat before asking, “How’s Lois?”

“She’s doing fine, well... great actually,” Clark sets the bowl down on the table, grabbing a serviette to wipe his lips. “We’re still planning to live together, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll just take the guest room, you know, now that we’re not...”

“Together?”

“Y-yeah. I mean, it was a mutual split.” Clark fiddles with the serviette in his hands. “But, I think both of us needed some kind of comfort in each other, to make sure that we’re both still there, I guess.”

Bruce does not interrupt nor speak, he knows Clark needs to talk, to let his thoughts out. And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to hear Clark’s voice too, let the sound drown out the near oppresive silence in the lake house.

“She’s been spending some time in Smallville. I’m glad Perry gave her some time off. I think she loves the farm more than she wants to admit. It’s far from the city, the stress of the newsroom, and I’m just glad Ma and Diana are there to keep her company too.”

“Diana?”

“She’s been visiting,” Clark’s eyes softens at the mention of the Themyscirian princess. “Though I think she’s probably using it as an excuse to see Lois actually.”

Clark relaxes back against the sofa, shifting till he’s half laying down, feet on the floor as he places his hands on his stomach.

“Lois didn’t deserve that, watching me die.” Clark’s voice goes soft, almost a whisper.

“But she understood,” he continues. “She knew what I had to do. She was so angry with the world, Bruce. Throwing Lex Luthor into jail wasn’t enough for her, I think she wanted to grab the world by the lapels and make them pay.”

Bruce knows. Lois Lane had not been pleased to see him during his initial visits to Metropolis. Her gaze, sharp and observant over the table when he had taken her out for lunch. Her replies had been curt, and Bruce’s attempt to get more information about Clark Kent was immediately shot down with a single look that said, _‘I think that’s enough.’_

Bruce Wayne never fidgets, but that day he understood why Lois Lane was not a force to be threatened with.

“Lois was so angry, just like you and Diana. Both of you were, weren’t you, Bruce? Angry at the world for taking away the people you love.”

Bruce inches closer, until his thigh is pressed against Clark’s own. A hand reaches out to take his, and Bruce thinks he can feel the heartbeat underneath the warmth of Clark’s skin, that Clark is truly safe and back with the world.

“You were terrifying that night we fought,” Clark says.

“I hated you,” Bruce croaks, his voice grating on his ears. “I saw you as a threat, a menace. I was so blinded by rage and hate I nearly killed you.”

The fingers around his hand tightens, and Bruce squeezes back gratefully.

“I was no different from them, Clark.”

Clark slowly sits up, but he tugs at Bruce’s hand to pull him closer. Bruce thinks he has never seen eyes with shades of blue like Clark’s. He remembers the time Martha Kent told him the glasses were an essential part of Clark’s disguise, simply because they hid the otherworldly shade of blue of his eyes.

_‘That blue was unlike anything else on Earth. He’s been getting compliments on his eyes for as long as I could remember.’_

“You changed, Bruce,” Clark says. “Diana told me you’re bringing together a group of people like us... _like me_... to protect the world. I think that tells me enough about you.”

Clark leans closer till their foreheads are almost touching; Bruce resists the urge to pull away.

He wants to hold Clark close, to hide him from the world that had wanted him dead before it repented and mourned him. And a selfish part of him wants to keep Clark here in the lake house, to find a way to prevent him from becoming Superman again.

But he can’t, the world needs Superman, no matter how much Bruce thinks the world does not deserve Kal-El.

 _Men are still good_ , he had told Diana at Clark’s funeral, but he isn’t one.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr Wayne?”

“I’m not a good man, Clark,” he says.

The smile on Clark’s face is heartbreakingly beautiful, and he gently nudges his forehead against Bruce’s own to make sure he’s listening.

“I’m not asking whether or not you’re a good man, Bruce. Men are still good, just like you said.” 

The grandfather clock in the study room chimes. Clark pulls away, his hand still holding onto Bruce’s and tugs him to his feet effortlessly.

“You did promise Alfred I should be in bed by now.”

Bruce cannot help but smile, something about Clark lightens his heart. He knows Clark isn’t a cheerful person by nature, but Bruce admires his inner strength to look at the good in people, and the immensurable amount of love in his heart.

He watches Clark wash the dishes, giving into his insistence at washing them himself, because Martha Kent did not raise Clark Kent to leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight. He listens to Clark talk about Lois and Diana, his voice full of exasperated fondness for his closest friend due to the two women’s insistence at dancing around each other.

“I should just stick a mistletoe over the doorway next time Diana visits. Christmas is just six months away, but god, do they need a push.”

Bruce shows Clark to the guest room, furnished with a bed, a wardrobe, bedside table and a shelf full of novels that he thinks Clark would appreciate. Like the rest of the house, the room had floor to ceiling windows with a partial view of the lake and forest surrounding the house.

Bruce hopes tomorrow’s weather would be good.

“I heard Kryptonians get their energy from the sun,” he says, leaning against the doorway. 

“Yeah, I enjoy sleeping in once in a while whenever possible, it’s nice to soak up the sun in your sleep.” Clark is looking at the novels with mild interest, before walking to the bed to turn down the covers.

Bruce pushes himself off the doorway, “I shouldn’t keep you up further then. Good night, Clark.”

“Bruce. Wait." 

Clark walks up to him, his hands reaching out to hold his own. Bruce is almost ashamed to admit that he enjoys being a few inches taller than Clark, but he curls his fingers around Clark’s hands anyway.

Under the dim light from the lamps on the walls, Bruce sees the faint blush on Clark’s cheeks. He looks hesitant, and Bruce wants to ask what’s wrong when...

“Can... Can I kiss you?”

Bruce’s heart skips a beat.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Clark leans in, but Bruce was faster, his arms slipping around Clark’s waist to tug him closer as he presses his lips against Clark’s.

It was a chaste kiss, no tongue, no passionate battle for dominance. Just a gentle kiss that made Clark let out a pleased hum as Bruce enjoyed the warmth of Clark’s body in his arms, Clark’s hands on his shoulders as the younger man leans in for more.

Neither Bruce nor Clark let go of each other for a long time, but occasionally broke apart for air before leaning in again for more chaste kisses; Bruce wanting to feel Clark’s soft curls between his fingers as Clark made soft pleased noises that made Bruce’s heart soar.

“I should really sleep,” Clark says, when they finally break apart, eyes wide and pupils dilated. “And your heart is beating really fast.”

Bruce laughs, feeling lighter than he has ever felt in months. He leans in for one last kiss on Clark’s cheek, before nudging him towards the bed.

“Good night, Bruce.”

“Good night, Clark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Superman fan, this is actually one of the hardest chapters I've ever written. Writing from a third person POV from Bruce's perspective is pretty limiting, seeing that what he knows of Clark is from Martha's and Lois's stories, and from his own observation of Clark himself. 
> 
> At the same time, it's also about writing what Superman symbolises in the DCEU needs to sound hopeful but not in-your-fucking-face hopeful. So I had to stay away from using words like positive to describe Clark, I wouldn't say DCEU!Clark is positive at this point of time, but he sees the better side of people and in life in general. 
> 
> Also, did anyone spot the NOT SO SUBTLE Superman: Birthright reference? Kudos if you did! (spending 2016 reading superman comics and crying over the different iterations paid off) 
> 
> I'll try to have a bonus chapter up before the new year, but the rating for this fic will stay as T. 
> 
> Please do leave kudos and comments if you liked it, feedback is much appreciated!


End file.
